Mr. Fix-It and I have been talking about “wow, we really need to clear some of this out” when we began the annual decorating ritual.
“I thought we were getting rid of some of this stuff,” he observed as he stopped to mop his brow after pulling out the fourth of our five fake Christmas trees.

My response: “How do you expect me to know what I want to clear out if I can’t remember what all we have? I have to take it all out to figure out what I don’t want anymore.”

At least we’re covered on trees. We used to have to travel a lot. We didn’t want to announce that nobody was home during Christmas, so we went fake and kept the lights burning whether or not we were home.

But I do long for a real tree again. A great big one we pick out on the lot or on the farm. With prayer, the tree that looked too small on the lot will only need the bottom three feet removed so it can, hopefully, clear the ceiling when upright.

Years ago, there was a family living near what is now called Jackson-Hartsfield Atlanta International Airport. The parents and five kids resided in a tiny little white frame cracker box on a vegetation-deprived corner lot. The back yard was encased in chain link fencing where a bunch of hounds resided. Yeah, kind of like the Bumpus family in “A Christmas Story."

Back in those days, during the Christmas season, folks piled in the family car and drove around town drinking in the seasonal decorations: Wreath on the front door. Multi-colored or clear lights adorning the Christmas tree in the living room window. Single or multi-light candelabra in all the windows. Bows and pine sprays on the mailbox. Conservative, tasteful decking of the halls.

Well, this particular south Atlanta family was known in their community for flouting tradition, so when their Christmas decorations came out, “conservative and tasteful” were run over by a speeding plastic sleigh with eight reindeer.

These folks looked like the gettin’ place for gaudy plastic yard décor. You name it; they had it: snowmen, reindeer, Santas of every size and color, elves, snowflakes, Christmas trees, and — the pièce de rèsistance — Santa, sleigh, red bag, and eight reindeer suspended from the utility service line stretched from the corner pole to their house. Of course, it was all lighted and animated.

Inside, the Christmas tree looked more like a gigantic shrub growing in the corner of the living room. Shrouded in every kind and color of light known to the UL rating system, the tree had no top. It appeared to grow into the attic.

Being the eldest son in that family included the role as Official Christmas Tree Lighter (“Denny, throw The Switch!”). The talk around town was that the family had a special utility pole behind the dog pen. On the pole was alleged to be a three-pole knife single-throw switch a la Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. When the switch was thrown. The rest of the town went dim.

Pilots making the approach into Atlanta complained about the house confusing them — they thought it was a new runway — until one of Georgia’s foggy winter nights. On those nights, they were grateful for the unintended beacon. Conservative and tasteful could never have pulled that off.

I am a proud member of the 1964 graduating class from the Bob Arnold School of Christmas Tree Decorating. In order to receive my certification, my ice lights had to be perfectly spaced with no two of the same color in the same designated sub-district on the tree. Icicles could never be thrown; they were carefully placed with only 1-1/2” draped over the limb so the remaining 10-1/2” could gracefully flow like fringe on Roy Rogers’ cowboy shirt. My final practicum was a nail-biter, believe you me.

Bob’s tutelage races into my mind every year. Yet, there is this renegade side that rears its head and says, “You need something tacky. Think of the family at the airport.” It’s absolutely titillating.

Hence, my decorations tend to lean more toward the conservative-tasteful end of the spectrum with some 1970s south Atlanta influence. Being that it’s our first year in this neighborhood, we’re pulling out only the tasteful and conservative. We didn’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet.

That’s for next year when the back yard will be awash with lights down to the pond. It’s a good thing the airport is over in Cumberland County.

Helen Person is a former Winder resident residing in Virginia. You can send comments about this column to haperson.VA@gmail.com.

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